Where You Found That One Thing.

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Clutter.

Many years ago, my brother and I used to “jam” in my mom’s basement. I’d riff some Barre chord punk riffs on my reverse-headstock Aria Pro II, my brother would pluck away on his Fender bass. We weren’t any good, of course, but that didn’t matter. It was therapeutic. Now and then, our buddy Danny would join us. Danny lived up the street and was essentially another brother. One day we discussed getting an actual punk band together, and what we should call it. The winning entry, in my opinion, was Danny’s suggestion of “Clutter.” He said it represented the disorder of our music and the varying styles we would surely incorporate into our live shows and albums. I thought it was wonderful. But, as you can’t download our music on iTunes and I’m writing a blog in my spare time instead of banging groupies and dodging rehab, “Clutter” the band never took off. But that name is still a good one, so I’m using it for this catch-as-catch-can blog entry. Thanks, Danny!

First up: This…

D’awww! Some Indonesian kid made his own Mushroomhead band member!

That right there is a little voodoo keychain guy that my Sweet Baby got me on one of her travels because she knows I miss surfing. She’s a good ol’ gal, that wife of mine. Anyway, the other day I noticed something horrifying. Apparently, my little surf guy was a proud member of Hitler’s Waffen SS. Take a look at the board…

Gott in himmel!

Sure, it’s probably supposed to be a lightning bolt, like the legendary Lightning Bolt surfboards surfed by the likes of Gerry Lopez at places like Pipe. Probably. Or maybe this is supposed to be a promotional piece for “Surf Nazis Must Die.” Either way, I’ll betcha green money that some little Indonesian kid fucked this shit all up.

Speaking of things I didn’t notice at first…the other night was a windy, blustery, snowy one in Ft. Wayne, Indiana. I sat alone in my loft and fired up the ol’ Netflix, choosing (for the 346th time, I believe) John Carpenter’s amazing, classic, incredible 1982 sci-fi thriller “The Thing.” (Trust me, there really is no better dead-of-winter movie. None.) Anyhow, my friend and fellow blogger Blake (The Beard Gospel, Poptopia Madness, reviewer for Nerdspan, etc.) pointed this particular Easter egg out to me, so I waited eagerly for the last few moments of this film to see it for myself, and…I’ll be goddammed. I’ve been watching this movie for over thirty years now and never caught it. Peep this…

“Okay,” you say. “What’s the big deal?” Here’s the big deal: SPOILER ALERT!! SCROLL TO THE NEXT BIT IF YOU DON”T WANT TO HAVE A THIRTY-YEAR-OLD MOVIE THAT YOU SHOULD’VE ALREADY SEEN RUINED FOR YOU!!

The big deal is that Childs is The Thing, although technically he could be one of several “Things.” Did they all get blown up? Maybe. MacReady was able to escape, so what if that final creature-combo that looked like a Super Mario Dragon Plant mixed with the worst sort of Greyhound rescue ever at Red Lobster didn’t include Blair? Or Garry? Nauls?

Back to the point. How do I know that Childs is the creature? We can’t see his breath. MacReady’s is steaming and swirling with every word, encircling his head with clouds of cheap scotch-scented respiration. Childs is in within three feet of MacReady, and yet…nothing. Nary a wisp. He’s not a real human. He’s waiting to either freeze again so that when the rescue crew comes to the research station, they cart his remains back to the mainland where he will thaw and get into an amazing street fight with Rowdy Roddy Piper over whether or not to put on glasses that let him see (ironically) the alien invaders as they really are…or he straight up kills MacReady and assumes his identity. (Although my money is on Mac.)

Remember, when you mess with Mac, you also mess with Snake and Jack. Just fair warning, pard…

Next subject: Burn Notice. Yeah, I know. I’m late to the party. The wife and I basically started watching it this last fall because Netflix. Boy, is it good. I don’t know what I expected. Maybe I figured it’d be a revamped Silk Stalkings or that stupid syndicated show wherein Hulk Hogan drove a powerboat around the Florida panhandle or whatever.

Terry? Terry?!? Okay. What if all this time, the Hulkster was really just Terry Bradshaw with a paste-on Fu-Manchu?!? It would make so much sense…

Anyway, it struck me the other day why I enjoyed it so much (Burn Notice, not that “Terry” Hogan crap.) The writing is decent, the locale is spectacular (seriously, as long as there is a Miami, there will be crime dramas and such) but it’s really the cast. Man, what a cast. It reminds me of Firefly, in that it’s the grand total of all the pieces…that’s what makes this thing shine. Change one character…say, the mom from Everybody Loves Raymond instead of Sharon Gless…or Tom Selleck as Sam…and the whole thing falls apart. Sure, characters come and go, and it took about a season before everything gelled so perfectly, but imagine Bruce Boxleitner playing Jayne Cobb. “Did that almost happen?!?” you shocked fanboys scream, to which I simply whisper back “No.”

Ladies and gentlemen, the Hero of Canton!

But here’s my semi-legitimate fear: I really hope this show doesn’t end up being like LOST or something. Seriously, consider this theory that I just came up with: what if Michael didn’t actually get burned in the pilot episode. What if he got SHOT? What if the whole show is either in his mind or in actual purgatory? That would explain why he has trouble leaving, why he’s surrounded with the only people he’s ever really cared about, and why he’s compelled to help others. He’s trying to earn his way NOT back into the service of the CIA, but into heaven. It’s very possible that in the final episode of the series, Michael sacrifices himself for someone else and the show ends with him standing in a bright, white light as the voice of Morgan Freeman welcomes him home. Or even better, Sam Axe is actually wither God or THE DEVIL!!! Does that make a lick of sense? No. But tell me it wouldn’t fuck with some heads.